


Abstract

by snowdarkred



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gunplay, Incest, M/M, Mild Kink, POV Second Person, Sexual Fantasy, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdarkred/pseuds/snowdarkred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gun catches your eye, again and again, until you start to sweat under your collar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abstract

Your eyes slide to it and then up again. Dean isn’t even looking at you, isn’t even paying attention. He’s focused on the house, on the case, on the hunt. You can barely keep it together long enough to do some fucking research. Instead, the gun catches your eye, again and again, until you start to sweat under your collar. You wish for a moment that you were anywhere but here — alone in a hotel room, locked in the bathroom, anywhere — because now is not the time to think these thoughts.

Never is the time to think these thoughts, but you came to terms with that a long time ago. The Winchesters stood apart from humanity, and who you want to bone is no different. For you at least.

Dean adjusts his grip on his favorite gun, and you lick your lips without meaning to. The angry spirit won’t appear until midnight, so you have a few extra moments to lose yourself in your darkest desires. The moonlight lends an unreal veneer to the scene, a dreamlike quality that makes it easy to fall into fantasy.

What if Dean reached for you, right now, as you both crouched in the bushes outside of an unsuspecting family’s house. What if he gripped your shoulder tightly and dragged you down, pushing you until finger-thin roots dug into your spine? His gun would gleam in the moonlight, as cold as a kept-promise.

“Don’t talk, Sammy,” he’d say, but you would open your mouth anyway, begging with your defiance, eager for him to give you what you both know you need. Dean always gives you what you need, even if it means ripping himself apart and taking the world with him. It’s how things are.

“Dean,” you’d say, and that’s when he’d do it. The thought of a cold gun running along his jaw makes him shiver slightly.

“I told you that you should have brought another damn jacket,” Dean grouches, snapping you out of your fantasy. You shiver again at the thought of how very close he is.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say; that’s what’s expected. Dean reaches for you and tugs you closer, sharing body heat without making a fuss about it. It’s all to easy to slip back into your daydream. The heat from Dean’s body makes it worse. Now you think about how the contrast would feel, with you trapped between Dean’s warmth and the hard coldness of the ground.

You haven’t forgotten the gun. Dean would drag it from your jaw to your collar bones and then down until he met his own legs, and then he would drag it up again. Dean’s gaze would never leave your face. His hand would never leave your arm. His gun would never leave your skin.

“Sammy,” he’d say again, loud in the night’s silence. “I told you not to talk.”

Then he’d take the gun and—

“Sam!” Dean snaps. The dream breaks, and you jolt back to reality. Dean is on full alert, and he’s practically on point, he’s staring at the house so hard. “It’s time.”

“Yeah,” you say dully, “it’s time.” You pull your knife from its sheath and wait for the signal.


End file.
